


To Be Alone with You

by selladore



Category: Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Blood, Coming Out, Crushing, Drinking, Drunk Coming Out, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Trust, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and leg injury, dipping my toes in to writing some arthur/john, hoo boy, i have some feelings, i watched brokeback mountain for the first time a few weeks ago and, idk how to tag, its minor tho, john is one (1) skinny legend, or tent rather, theyre younger than in canon, weight mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-20 14:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21283148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selladore/pseuds/selladore
Summary: In which Arthur comforts John.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/John Marston
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	To Be Alone with You

_“I think it’s broken, Arthur.”_

Arthur scoffed. Trust little ol’ John to take a nasty tumble off of his horse.

“You’ll be _fiiine_,” he cooed.

“Really hurts.”

“Shoulda’ thought about that before you decided t’ go gallopin’ off at break-neck speed, boy.”

John huffed, dipping his head. His signature pout.

“Weren’t my fault. Somethin' spooked him.”

“That how it is, is it?” Arthur teased, craning his head over his broad shoulder to glance at the younger man sat behind him.

John held his tongue for the rest of the ride back to their makeshift campsite, as inclined as he was to retort at Arthur.

He wasn’t in the mood to bicker, no matter how playful, nor would it detract from the acute pain that shot through his ankle and leg when he made any feeble attempt to move them the slightest inch. 

He would be lucky if Arthur ever let him live this down back at camp with the others. 

John stifled grunts of discomfort as Boadicea traversed the rocky terrain at the foothills of the mountain they had set up camp on, digging his fingers in to the older man’s coat to steady himself.

Old Boy followed closely behind them, matching their brisk pace, whinnying and snorting.

''Easy now, wouldn't want ya fallin' off twice,” Arthur jibed again. 

He felt the younger man shift behind him and let out a subtle exhale, so he reigned in the playful teasing.

“Not far now, John. How's that head a' yours?''

John raised a hand to his temple, pressing on the wound slowly only to let out a scathed hiss through gritted teeth and withdraw it, looking at the mixture of dark blood and dirt on his fingers. 

He didn't have to say much for Arthur to let out an amused snort in response.

''Y'alright back there?''

''Mm.''

Upon returning to their campsite, Arthur hitched both of their horses to the tree. He returned to John, still sitting on the back of Boadicea, and reached up with both arms to help him down. 

John clutched his injured limb with one hand and clung on to Arthur with the other, spitting curses under his breath when he had to swing his leg around to dismount.

The younger didn't weigh much more than a sparrow, Arthur noticed, something he'd grill him about after.

It wasn’t a rare occurrence for him to have to be prompted to eat meals by Miss Grimshaw or Pearson, lately even Hosea.

He’d always been petite and scrawny, but these past few weeks his appetite had been non-existent. Just drinking and having the odd bite or two of whatever was around.

He stumbled toward the clearing where their tent and campfire were set up, using Arthur as a crutch, albeit reluctantly.

Warmth radiated from the older man's touch where his hand met John’s side, fingers curled around his waist, even through the three layers of clothing he was wearing.

''I don't need you t'-''

''Just sit down, will ya,'' Arthur said roughly before sitting him down on the log by the side of the dull fire pit. 

John extended his injured leg, the other bent to rest his chin on his knee, eyes closely following the older man as he disappeared in to their tent.

He returned minutes later with a canteen of water, a washcloth and two bottles of whisky in his arms.

He tossed some more wood in to the fire and it wasn’t long until the crackling flames were dancing, providing much needed warmth and light.

“Let’s see here.” 

Arthur sat facing John and straddling the log, reaching his hand out in an attempt to brush away the dark locks of hair that obscured John’s face so he could see the wound properly.

He pulled back, shying away from his hand.

“John,” Arthur started, taking on a sympathetic tone. ''I need you t' work with me here.''

“It’s just a scratch, Arthur—“

“That why you were whining the whole way up here just now?” He retorted, a growl rising in his throat. 

At times like this it was plain to see why Arthur was such a valuable asset to the gang. 

He could be as rough and imposing as he could be gentle, though he wouldn’t take credit for the latter.

John eventually succumbed, dampening his protests, but didn’t dare tear his gaze away from the fire in front of him.

Arthur wetted the washcloth with the canteen of water and gently dragged it down John's temple, wiping away the now dry blood. 

John cursed his luck, if it wasn't for his damn leg he'd already have stormed out of the clearing by now. 

He half considered entertaining the notion for a second, if it meant sparing himself from having Arthur so intoxicatingly close, and these incessant feelings gnawing on his own conscious.

Run away like usual.

He allowed himself to steal a glance at Arthur again.

The man’s lips were pursed, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. A single strand of flaxen hair fell in front of his eyes, illuminated by the warm glow of the fire, like pools of priceless emeralds.

''Head straight.''

John whipped his head back abruptly, returning to staring at the fire and pretending to be enamoured by the flames again.

_He’d never speak to me again if he knew. I'll lose the gang._

Arthur wetted the washcloth once again. His gaze shifted between examining the wound, now just a small gash, and trying to read the John’s face.

The boy was an enigma at the best of times, but ever since they had set up camp here he’d been acting real strange.

The two of them had always been close, but lately he'd been withdrawn with Arthur.

Holding something back, but whatever that was, the older was none the wiser to it.

“All that fuss over nothing,” he tutted, finishing up cleaning the wound. “Probably ain’t gonna need stitches, just don’t go poking at it.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” John murmured, a genuine moment of gratitude, before swiping one of the bottles of whisky and bringing it to his lips for a swig.

It was warm and bitter on his tongue and he had already gulped half of it down when he felt eyes boring holes through him.

Arthur looked purposeful, as if about to ask a serious question.

John’s mind raced, anticipating all of the things the other man could say to coax him in to spilling whatever was on his mind the way he always managed to.

“Your leg okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied shakily. “Might just... sleep on it.”

John nodded his head to himself, pursing his lips.

Arthur turned his head, taking a drag of his own whiskey. 

They didn’t exchange any words for what seemed like ages.

Just sat together in contemplative silence.

“Well okay then,” Arthur finally shrugged.

He stood and made his way back to the tent, slipping off his coat and making a start on the buttons of his blue cotton shirt as he walked.

John watched him go, letting out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. 

So why did he feel disappointed?

Arthur didn’t pry like usual nor tease him, so why did John want him to come back?

——

Arthur stirred in his sleep, the faint drizzle of rain drumming on the canvas.

He instinctively reached out his arm, only to find an empty bedroll next to him.

His eyes cracked open slightly. John hadn't come to bed.

Arthur groggily peeked his head through the tent flaps, rubbing his half lidded eyes.

The moon lit up the clearing at night and Arthur could just make out the faint outline of John, curled up by the fire pit with his arms snug across his chest.

Right where he had left him.

_''John,''_ Arthur fiercely whispered across camp, to no avail.__

_ _With an aggravated grunt he got up, pushing his way out of the tent and sauntering over to where the boy had obviously drank himself in to a stupor, made evident by the empty whiskey bottles scattered in his vicinity. _ _

_ _Arthur scooped him up, hauling him over his shoulder across camp and laying him on his side on his bedroll.__

He was trembling from the cool wind and rain, but still very much unconscious.

_ __ _

__He laid back down on his side, facing John so as to keep an eye on him should he wake up._  
_

_ _His dark, messy hair draped itself across his features and his brow was furrowed as if he was lost amidst a bad dream, intense even at rest._ _

_ _Arthur's lips curled in to a sleepy smile at the sight before him, trying to memorize the shadows and contours of John's face so he could sketch them later.__

_ __ _

__

But he couldn't savour the feeling for very long, the pang of confliction and repressed emotion in the pit of his stomach saw to that.

_Arthur, you dumb fool,_ he scolded himself.

_ _He was about to turn over and chase that much needed shuteye he was already behind on when John stirred next to him.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

__He raised his head only a little and squinted at his spinning surroundings._ _

_ _''S'fine, I've gotchu,” Arthur greeted in a hushed voice before John abruptly jerked awake for good this time. Arthur anticipated the younger about to make a b-line for outside, though he could barely stand on his own two feet between the drink and sprained leg. __

_ __ _

_ _Arthur sat up and his hand shot out to grab John’s arm before he could stumble out of the tent._ _

_''Hey now, what the hell’s wrong with you?''_

__

__

_ __''Me... this...'' John slurred. “S’not right.”_  
_ _

__

__

Arthur sighed.

He remembered this moment all too well, recalling his own first experience. 

He loosened his grip on the boy’s arm.

“S’cold out there,” he reminded. “You wanna go, go, but you ain’t exactly fit for it.”

There was a heavy pause, before John sat back against the canvas, bracing himself with one hand to stave off the spinning sensation.

His face flushed and his eyes stung with hot tears threatening to roll down his cheeks.

“I’m...” he swallowed, trying to will away the lump caught in his throat. “I’m real sorry, Arthur. I don’t know why-“

p>“S’fine,” Arthur interrupted.

He dipped his head, idly fidgeting with his own fingers in an awkward way.

He wanted to comfort the younger man.

“Promise it is.”

Arthur looked at John, truly looked at him for once.

“I been tryin’ to hide it, Arthur, I have. But up here, alone, only havin’ you to talk to...” he trailed off, averting his gaze when he noticed Arthur watching him in his peripheral vision.

“C’mere, John.”

He sniffed, scooted toward Arthur and laid down, not embracing just yet. They had crossed that threshold of what was typical for them, or rather, John had. 

“Hope this means you won’t be avoiding me no more, or tryin’ to at least,” Arthur snorted.

John’s dark eyes met his gaze, glazed over, but smiling.

The first smile he’d given Arthur the whole trip.

**Author's Note:**

> this is just pure indulgent yearning at this point


End file.
